In a revelation that will shock absolutely nobody who has ever glanced at a swimming pool, David Hockney has been lauded for depicting a 'peaceful, gay paradise' during the era when homosexuality was still a criminal offence. The British art establishment, in a fit of retrospective virtue signalling, has declared his early works a vital part of our heritage. Well, bugger me sideways with a palette knife. It seems the National Gallery has finally discovered that gay people existed before 1967, which is rather like discovering that water is wet or that the Queen has a stiff upper lip.
Hockney, the Bradford-born bard of bathing trunks and geometric lawns, painted his 'gay paradise' while the law was still busily persecuting his kind. He produced works like 'A Bigger Splash' and 'Peter Getting Out of Nick's Pool' with a defiant insouciance that would make a lesser man crumble. But Hockney, bless his cotton socks, simply carried on painting sun-drenched Californian idylls while the British legal system was still trying to put him in the dock. How terribly British. Carry on regardless, even if 'regardless' means you could be banged up for buggery.
This announcement comes hot on the heels of a government initiative to 'celebrate' LGBTQ+ history, which is code for 'let's all feel terribly progressive about things we now consider barbaric while ignoring the current barbarities'. It's all very well clapping Hockney on the back now, but where were the accolades when he was actually painting? Probably being suppressed by the same establishment that now wants to claim him as their own. The art world's relationship with dissent has always been a bit like a Tory MP at a Pride march: enthusiastically supportive in retrospect, but utterly absent when it mattered.
Let us not forget that Hockney's paradise was painted against a backdrop of police raids, blackmail, and chemical castration. His canvases are not just art, they are acts of defiance. Each brushstroke was a two-fingered salute to the hypocrites who thought his love was illegal. And now they want to put it in a gallery with a nice little plaque? Hockney's 'gay paradise' was a cry of freedom from a world that wanted to imprison him, not just physically, but spiritually. To reduce it to a heritage talking point is to miss the point entirely.
But then, the British art establishment has always been rather good at missing the point. They celebrate the transgressive after the transgression has been sanitised. First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then they put you in a retrospective at the Tate. Hockney, now 86, has lived to see his 'criminal' paradise become a cherished part of our national identity. It is a triumph, yes, but also a sad indictment of how slowly the wheels of justice grind. He painted paradise while the law was still in the business of building hells for gay men.
So raise a glass (preferably gin, and preferably in a sun-drenched setting) to David Hockney. The man who painted the peace and joy of queer existence when it was still a criminal act. And then reflect on the fact that we are still celebrating people for simply existing. The art world may have caught up, but the fight for a truly peaceful paradise for all gay people is far from over. Until then, we have Hockney's splashes and pools and lovers to remind us of what we are fighting for. And that, dear reader, is worth more than all the heritage plaques in Britain.
